Providence
by EmmanuelleG
Summary: He could touch her, he could pry her mouth open, but no words would ever come out. No thoughts would be shed. One shot.


What is wrong with me. I am not even a Twilight fan. I never thought I'd write something for this series. But damn was Michael Sheen enjoyable as Aro. And, well, at least in the movies, he's clearly obsessed with the idea of Bella. Understand it as you wish; he wants her for her power, talent, etc. I, for once, prefer to see it a tad differently. She's a challenge, you know, and he hasn't had one in centuries. And aren't we attracted to things we aren't meant to have ?

* * *

**Providence**

He touches Alice's cold skin and sees everything.

Bone ripping through flesh, the pain, the cries, and the overpowering desperation. He also gets a peek of his own demise. Intriguing. Curious. Also, disturbing. Disturbing for it comes at the hands of a young, so very young, girl and her enamoured husband. He watches his prized horses – his Jane and Alec – get massacred. He cannot hide a smile at the image of being the one to put an end to Carlisle's life. A friend once, a burden for a while too long.

But there's something else within the confines of her mind. Something she hopelessly attempts to shield from him.

He frowns, pushes forward as his eyes close, and soon enough is inside her head. Alice's nails dig into his wrist; he ignores it. Oh, now is not the time to let go.

This is not part of what _will_ happen. It is the _could be_. A future attached to an alternate ending.

A great part of his guard falls, the wolves run away, but he stands still and proud. Victorious. Once more, Carlisle's head deserts his shoulders. It is the final line, the comma to end their pitiful story. With his body reduced to ash, the remaining traitors opt for an escape route. Their leader is in flames and so is their courage.

Only, there is no snow. The streets of Egypt. The Amazon rainforest. The cold lands of Ireland.

It's a game of cat and mouse. The Volturis hunting down those who dared to oppose them.

_If he comes back later. If he attacks while they all are away from each other._

It is what the silly prophet tries to hide.

And also very blurry. Not as clear as the possibility of his personal death.

The scene changes. The hot air of Italy brings a smile to his lips but there is no sky to admire. Instead, he is presented the indoors of their castle. Suddenly, Volterra is twice as inviting. To his surprise, he is kneeling on the stone of the ground before a crouched figure. Politeness has always bordered on madness with him; now is no exception.

His hands are dancing in the air before a pale face, his laugh cuts through air like a knife through butter. The golden eyes of Bella Swan rise to meet his own.

"It would be such a waste, cara mia," he whispers to her.

He could touch her, he could pry her mouth open, but no words would ever come out. No thoughts would be shed.

Still, he hears it. The silent accusation. _They all are dead._

"Indeed," he answers even as she presses her palms to her ears to drown his voice.

He is not letting go of the shield, he never will allow _her_ to walk away from here. It is not all about power, suddenly.

Fascination. Morbid fascination. Fascination washed away by years to be replaced with softness. Gentleness.

He doesn't change; neither does she. But somehow, somewhere, there is an indication that time has passed.

And still they are in the same position.

There is no one around them to witness him brushing her hair away from her face. No one to raise an eyebrow as he kisses her forehead.

But everyone is there to keep the girl from jumping into a fire.

Snow.

Alice is shaking her head, her mouth forming words meant for him alone. "Will you risk it ?"

Absentmindedly, he strokes her cheek. Far away, her husband grits his teeth. "What are my chances ?"

"Slim."

And she isn't lying.

One could classify their retreat as cowardice; he prefers seeing it as benevolence. It is not goodbye – with them it never is. Sooner or later the cards shall be put back on the table. He will intervene, be welcomed, feared, entreated.

He will see her.

From across the field, Carlisle bows to him. Aro returns the gesture.

They are all gone, he alone remains behind to stare one last time at that odd girl.

"What a waste," he repeats. Perhaps, just perhaps she hears him.

Bella Swan appears ready to spit in his face. Her hand finds Edward's and they leave to enjoy their uneventful forever.

**THE END**


End file.
